


The Unwrapping

by robotfvckers



Series: What 500 Followers Hath Wrought [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Dirty Talk, Dubcon Mention, Kidnapping, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, NSFW Art, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-30 03:46:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11455305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotfvckers/pseuds/robotfvckers
Summary: A Continuation of aGenyatta AU where Hanzo kidnaps a human Zenyattato keep his brother occupied.Genji tears down Zenyatta's restraint, piece by piece.





	The Unwrapping

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: kidnapping, brief mentions of implied/attempted noncon that does not occur  
> Art by [bovnaff](http://bovnaff.tumblr.com/)!

Meditation was the first skill Zenyatta had mastered among the shambali. It cleansed, opened his mind, smoothed him as a river shaped a stone. Mondatta had taught him well and praised him for his dedication. Pride was a dangerous thing, but he held the words dear. **  
**

_Well done, Zenyatta._

His mastery does little to help him now.

“You sure he don’t want to join in? He’s cute.” The man murmurs in a thick, nearly unintelligible accent.

The golden brand upon his neck prickles, and Zenyatta curses the nanobots in the ink that keep him close to Genji at all times.

“So greedy. You really are an american.” Genji chuckles, barely audible over the thick slap of skin on skin.

The spot between his eyebrows tightens. Maintaining composure is not easy; Genji doesn’t let it be.

Genji, who adorns him in translucent, loose robes that slip off his shoulders at every deep bend, Genji whose attendants scrub and massage sweet oils into his skin. He had convinced the younger Shimada to let him forgo paint; a small victory that Zenyatta clings to in this strange place.

“You would not find him a willing participant.” Genji murmurs, followed by a wet suckling sound. At the man’s neck, perhaps, or the thick curve of his shoulder, deeply scarred, metal from the elbow down.

“Why...why’dya keep ‘im around?” The american’s voice ends in a punctuated huff as Genji does something that makes him shudder and squirm.

The bed squeaks with their motions, and Zenyatta’s hands, curled against his thighs, dig into his flesh. He can pretend all he likes that he is detached from earthly form, that as a fully ordained monk, nothing can reach him.

Yet, the men fucking scant feet from him has him flushed from chest to ear. He murmurs his vows beneath his breath, but Genji moans, high and hard, and he stumbles. Swallows.

“A gift from my honored brother.” Genji replies, humming his pleasure. “I like him.”

Anger, hot and immediate, bubbles in his chest. Genji is cocky, spoiled, garish, a cheeky brat that has never known hardship.

But he is the same man that had no harsh quips when the heir apparent threw him at his feet. Who led him gently by red cord back to his quarters. Who unbound him, rubbed the burning numbness from his wrists and left him untouched when Zenyatta struggled.

He shakes his head, clenches his fingers to stop the fine trembling of his limbs. His cock, thick and heavy against his fundoshi, twitches, leaks, at Genji's next words.

“Ride me?”

The other man groans, off-put. With eyes closed, it’s difficult not to imagine Genji asking him the same question. Genji’s eyes, half-mast and dark with lust, pale skin dusted with pink. It is the same face Genji wore on the first night as he tugged at his green silk robe, looming over Zenyatta’s prostrate form. Powerful. Hungry. Dragon’s eyes.

There’s a shuffling of sheets, a creak of the mattress, the thick, even sound of two sliding together once more, echoing moans. The man is hirsute and tanned, soft around the middle, dwarfing Genji in every way. Zenyatta squeezes his eyes shut tighter, fighting against his dangerous, building curiosity.

He...wants to see.

Wants to see the American ride Genji, slam his huge hips down, muscles flexing. Wants to see what Genji’s cock looks like disappearing between his thighs. It would be so easy to watch, to drink in the sight of Genji fucking up into the groaning, sloven man, to learn with his own eyes how they find pleasure in one other.

But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t, because it is exactly what Genji wants. It is a game to break him. The young lord will not fuck someone unwilling.

  
Art by [bovnaff](http://bovnaff.tumblr.com/)

_I will wait until you beg._

Zenyatta’s tongue darts across his lips of its own accord; they are softer than they used to be. Genji molds him, steals his callouses and rough edges and smoothes his body just as Mondatta shaped his mind. He bristles at the comparison.

“Come on. Move your hips more.” Genji says, and Zenyatta imagines along with the uptake of sound that he fucks the man harder, giving him incentive to grind down, to work his hips and clench.

The american only tsks. “Y’know I like to be pampered.”

A thick, resounding slap. The man yelps. Their pace speeds, the squeaking of the bed returning, the headboard creaking under the strain. A few more blows land, and Genji chuckles when the man keens.

“You like when I’m rough. Like when someone makes you work.”

A shaky chuckle escapes the american, his voice breaking high. A stutter.

“‘m gettin’ close.”  Muffled, as if he’s speaking into his fist.

“Don’t come before me, McCree.”

McCree. Genji hadn’t introduced them.

“Ah, darlin’.” He drags the ‘nn’ sound, tight and pained, so thick with want it burns Zenyatta through his core.

The man's soft grunts quiet, break into a wordless bitten off plea, and Genji fucks him through his orgasm, the tip of his tongue exposed, satisfaction in every line of his face.

Zenyatta knows because he opens his eyes. Genji is as beautiful as he is cocky, gleaming with sweat, a contrast to the dusky man writhing on top of him, jerking sluggishly against Genji, whose fingers sink into the thick softness of the man’s hips. McCree’s cock, huge and heavy, drools the last of its spend onto the man beneath him.

Art by [bovnaff](http://bovnaff.tumblr.com/)

Zenyatta stares at the glistening mess on Genji’s fluttering stomach. It seems...so much. A bead of sweat rolls down his shaved temple, skin tight. Surely he stains his clothes, so thick and insistent is his own erection. He cants his hips minutely, feeling shivery and loose. It would be so easy to move his hand inward, brush along his thigh, press his palm against the base of his cock to ease just a bit of the pressure.

He watches the man recover and slip off Genji’s cock, watches it slap, angry and slick, against his stomach. Genji hisses and clicks his tongue.

McCree only laughs, slides down the bed to nuzzle at Genji’s stomach.

“Your beard hurts.” Genji whines, swiveling his hips. His complaints die on his tongue when McCree descends on his cock, taking it inside his mouth in one smooth slide. He works his tongue at the base of it, pressed into Genji’s hair, groaning while Genji’s voice wavers, high and needy.

“You...you’re so nasty.” Genji moans, the sound buzzing between Zenyatta’s ears.

He catches his own whimper in his throat, cock throbbing dangerously. His posture waivers as he cranes forward, staring at them through his eyelashes.

Genji’s hips snap in quick, little ruts while he begins to babble and gasp. McCree takes his cock easily, dream-like, eyes half-lidded and content, beard sticky with it.

Zenyatta cannot look away, works his teeth against his tongue as his hand wanders of its own accord. His fingers graze his cock, and the soft sound that escapes him rings foreign in his ears. Did he make such an airy, whimpering cry? His grips his knees hard, eyes shut again, and he bites his lip, cursing himself. Cursing them. Cursing Genji.

He doesn’t let the sound of Genji coming open his eyes, nor the soft sounds of kissing. He ignores the warmth of McCree’s goodbyes, even when he speaks to Zenyatta directly.

“Good luck, partner. You’ll need it.”

Zenyatta’s frown deepens, face flushing as McCree’s spurs fade and the door clicks closed behind him.

Alone, he can breathe, the trial complete, his sanity conserved.

Relief doesn’t come.

His nerves buzz, skin prickling, too warm, his clothes still impossibly tight, his body unspent. Each breath feels a chore, flighty and quick. All he can feel is the pounding of his chest, the insistent throb of his cock, as footsteps, almost silent, approach.

The touch startles him, but he feigns, even now, indifference. Genji’s fingers press against his chin, calloused and warm.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Genji questions, voice just above a whisper, smugness bleeding from each syllable.

He tilts Zenyatta’s head up to face him, thumb balanced just beneath the swell of his lower lip.

“Look at me.” And the way he says it is soft, and it’s the tenderness of the request that makes Zenyatta obey.

He stares into Genji’s flushed face, his dark eyes widened, lips pursed into a soft, swollen ‘o’.

“Zenyatta.” He breathes. “Your eyes…”

Zenyatta blinks slowly, and it’s mystifying, watching the soft openness of Genji’s face slip into something darker, hungrier. His pulse quickens.

Zenyatta jerks in Genji’s grip, and Genji lets him go, laughter playful and sinful in equal parts.

  
Art by [bovnaff](http://bovnaff.tumblr.com/)


End file.
